


A Glimpse Inside

by abnosomesouls



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sam's subconscious has a bit of a potty mouth, Sam's thoughts, Total Fluff, content through episode 8x23 Sacrifice, mentions of Charlie and Crowley, no mention of season 9, oh wait that's mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 10:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1815766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abnosomesouls/pseuds/abnosomesouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't usually have to share a room with his brother and Cas anymore, but this time he does, and he gets to see what he misses when they're not out hunting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Glimpse Inside

**Author's Note:**

> My very first foray into the world of writing fanfiction. Yay me!

  

Sam stretched and sat back in his creaky chair, eyes tired from a protracted staring contest with his computer screen.

Having just finished a hunt with Dean and Castiel, he didn’t really need to be doing any research for the moment but had figured he would look to see if there were any more cases nearby before they headed back to the bunker the next morning. It never hurt to be thorough, after all, and to tell the truth the whole monster-hunting, demon-killing business hadn’t been quite as thrilling as it sounded lately, what with Crowley out of commission and all.

Which was not necessarily a bad thing—it was always a positive in Sam’s book when no one was getting terrorized or possessed or murdered horribly, no question—but it was also a bit…routine. Tedious. Practically freaking _normal_. That is, if one considered exhuming and torching dead bodies, exorcising ghosts, and spending far too much time with one’s brother plus a normal-looking guy who actually used to be an angel, normal.

Which Sam did. Hey, he was a Winchester after all.

He considered opening up his iTunes account and searching for new releases just waiting to be downloaded, but he knew that previewing the song snippets would only get him a loud, aggrieved protest from his brother and he didn’t have the energy for what inevitably followed. It went something like this: Dean would tell him to turn it the hell off unless he planned on developing some actual fucking taste and listening to real music (and just who died and made Dean the authority on “real” music, he wanted to know), to which Sam wouldn’t have any choice but to retort that at least he was open-minded enough to listen to something from the current century, and they would be off.

Reopening the well-worn girly-crap-only-douchebags-listened-to vs. tired-mullet-rock-with-too-much-bass argument they always wound up having would inexorably segue into the vinyl vs. digital debate, ending in a decisive yet lamentably temporary victory when Sam pointed out that he could bring thousands of songs with him wherever he went on an iPod that only took up four square inches of space while Dean chose to lug around two huge boxes of clunky cassette tapes that invariably wound up lost beneath the seats or broken or warped from the sun, and Dean rather eloquently told Sam to shut up. He’d memorized it by now.

_For real though—it was a new_ millennium _, you’d think Dean could have at least stretched himself a little bit and listened to something less than twenty-five years old for once. Although Dean_ was _dating a guy now, of all things, so maybe he’d stretched himself enough._ And oh, _eww—_ that thought came out way dirtier than he’d intended it.

Sam looked up at the object of his thoughts, seeing Dean sorting the last of the laundry on the beds and bitching to Castiel about friggin’ witches and not understanding why they insisted on their kills being so godddamn messy.

“I mean, how hard is it to keep your bodily fluids to yourself? That’s just gross, man.”

“Actually Dean, the purposeful emission of fluids from the body is a common theme in the physiological makeup of many insects,” Cas pointed out helpfully. “For instance, ladybugs produce a chemical compound that smells and tastes noxious in order to deter potential predators. The queen of an ant colony will use her own saliva as nutrition for unhatched eggs, and the wood ant will secrete an acid in order to—”

“Dude, stop!” Dean fairly yelled, cutting him off. “That’s disgusting; I did not need to know any of that. Jesus, Cas.” Dean and Sam wore matching expressions of repugnance in the face of Castiel’s earnest recitation, exchanging a look that clearly said, _seriously with this guy?_

Dean turned back to Castiel and threw the last clean t-shirt at him in an attempt to prevent the ex-angel from dragging them any further into the uncomfortably moist world of animal effluvia. “Here, fold this last one and then we need to do a routine weapons check and cleaning.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh silently at the sight of I’ll-kill-anything Dean entering pedantic mode, actually enjoying the novelty of sharing a room with his bossy brother again.

For all that they’d grown up in motel rooms practically on top of one another and Sam didn’t fully understand the concept of having one’s own space until he went to Stanford, the brothers hadn’t had to share a room for a while now. Back at the bunker they have their own rooms for the first time—complete with the wonder that is memory foam—and even on the road Sam usually gets a separate room now, ever since the angels’ Fall and the subsequent long-overdue comedy of Dean and Castiel simultaneously pulling their heads out of their respective asses and getting together; which little development Sam had found out about the hard way.

Because seriously, the last thing you wanted when you walked into _your own goddamn kitchen_ at seven a.m. was to see your brother pinned up against the counter by his former-angel best friend and being kissed within an inch of his life. Worse still was when said best friend let out a dirty moan (that Sam still hoped he would one day be able to forget, gods willing) when Dean’s hands slid down to grab his former-celestial-being-turned-boyfriend’s ass.

All of which was aside from the fact that they’d been doing it— _oh god Sam, don’t even go there_ —right in front of the freaking coffee machine which just heaped insult onto injury.

Needless to say, Sam now totally believed in the old adage that ignorance is bliss. What he can’t see can’t put him in therapy. Sam definitely always got his own room after that, plus seriously considered investing in a lifetime supply of ear plugs—because why take the chance—and daily thanked whoever might be left in Heaven that the bunker walls were thick (he so did not need the soundtrack, thank you very much).

On this particular occasion however, all three of them were being forced to share one room as the motel was full of holiday travelers, it being so near to Thanksgiving. They were staying in a decent chain motel for once rather than their standard fare of no-tell motels complete with mystery stains on the carpet and walls (and seriously—the _walls_ , people? How did they even do that?); for once not afraid to think too hard about when the bedding had last been changed. The reason for the upgrade was ostensibly that this was the last place available for miles, but Sam had seen Dean drive much further for less.

Although his brother would never admit it Sam suspected Dean had chosen to upgrade their accommodations on the road for Castiel’s sake. Dean had been worried about Castiel and his painful transition to enforced humanity, not that he would ever actually admit it, and had thus been quietly considerate wherever he could, particularly since they’d gotten together.

Sam watched from behind his laptop as Dean demonstrated the finer points of gun cleaning while Castiel watched attentively, having already displayed an understandable proficiency with their assortment of blades.

In fact, Dean had shown uncharacteristic patience throughout the whole ordeal of teaching Castiel the ins and outs of being human, especially when it came to explaining everyday chores. Really after about the fourth time the demon-grade smoke alarm in the kitchen had screeched out a pressing need for the fire extinguisher Sam would have expected Dean to ban Castiel from all food-related duties, but he hadn’t. He’d merely emphasized the purpose of a timer once again and proceeded to help clean up the mess. It was actually equal parts impressive and weird enough to be verging on creepy.

Dean’s voice suddenly broke through Sam’s train of thought.

“Hey bitch, why don’t you tear yourself away from your internet porn over there and go get us some food?”

Like Dean had any room to talk about internet porn. It was a sad friggin’ day when a person had to get a whole new email address because his asshat of a brother gave out his old one to a bunch of skeezy cartoon porn websites that then proceeded to spam his inbox with increasingly disturbing ads involving girls with blue hair and things he desperately tried not to see as he frantically clicked delete.

Sam threw a _Bite me_ face in his brother’s direction, but got up and grabbed his jacket anyway. He could take over the food run duty since Dean had done the laundry.

“You’re lucky I was hungry anyway. Be back soon, jerk.” He was already through the door with Dean’s voice ringing in his ears—“Don’t forget the pie, Sammy!”—when he paused. He could have sworn he’d heard Castiel’s gravelly voice asking, “Is that what you meant by the term bitch face, Dean?” followed by Dean’s bellowing laughter.

Great. Now Cas was starting to sound like Dean, just what Sam needed.

Fan-freakin’-tastic.

 

 

It was good that not much had changed between the three of them with the advent of Destiel (and wouldn’t the fangirls cream themselves if they knew it had finally become canon, holy shit), Sam reflected as he stood in line for their dinner. Dean was still a loud self-righteous ass who talked with his mouth full and sang off-key and did his utmost to look after his brother; Cas was still—well, Cas; and Sam luckily never felt like a third wheel.

It could have been a lot worse. For the most part things were the same as ever, at least on the surface, with the notable exception that Dean no longer complained about Castiel’s personal space issues or the staring. Sam was a pretty simple guy though, and he was just thankful that they were happy and he didn’t have to put up with anything too graphic.

Dean and Cas were sitting on one of the beds when Sam got back to the room, legs stretched out in front of them, watching TV. Dean was gesturing with a beer bottle as he expounded upon the epic genius of Robert DeNiro while Castiel looked on with an expression of solemn concentration, as if taking mental notes for a future test. They were both clad in sweats, hair wet; given that Sam wasn’t gone all that long he suspected the two had saved time and water by showering together, but in the interest of self-preservation decided not to pursue that train of thought too far.

He held up the bags of food and rattled them to get the others’ attention, causing Dean to cut short his emphatic defense of Cape Fear as one of the only valid remakes in film history with an enthusiastic cry of, “Hell yeah! I’m starving.” Castiel thanked Sam warmly as he got up to move over to the small table by the window, because clearly he was the only other person in the room possessed of any manners, and the trio settled into comfortable small talk while they ate.

They chatted about various things: the relative ease of the last hunt, a poltergeist of a dead grandmother of all things, that got pissy when her granddaughter announced her intentions to sell the family home and move to San Francisco with her loser boyfriend; they needed to stock up on rock salt when they got back to Lebanon; Dean still needed to replace the boots that’d been ruined the last time they went after a shapeshifter immediately post-shift and he hadn’t looked down in time to avoid the oozing pile of mush and hair that used to be a human suit.

Sam cackled as he retold the story unnecessarily with typical fraternal glee at his brother’s misfortune. Even Cas cracked a smile at that, remembering Dean’s absolute disgust and just how close he’d come to vomiting. Dean just scowled at the reminder and took a huge bite of his cheeseburger.

Sam’s phone rang just as they were finishing. It was Charlie, calling to let them know she’d be in Kansas in time for the holiday and was looking forward to getting her hands on the Men of Letters library. “I can’t wait to see all the creepy goodies those sexist pigs managed to collect!”

He eagerly discussed with her their idea of making electronic copies of all the source material and how to set up a tagging system to make cross-referencing easier while Cas cleaned up the dinner trash and Dean disappeared into the bathroom. Sam just rolled his eyes when he noticed Dean stealing all the complimentary travel-sized hygiene products (“What? They _want_ me to take them, Sam”) and turned back to his conversation, pacing aimlessly while he listened.

He paused and looked up when Charlie stopped talking for a moment, realizing some minutes had passed and he was alone in the quiet room; glancing around he finally spied both Dean and Cas through the open bathroom door.

They were standing at the sink in front of the mirror shoulder-to-shoulder, bodies relaxed and loose, brushing their teeth. Sam responded to Charlie’s question about cloud storage and absently wondered why Castiel was somewhat awkwardly brushing with his left hand; the thought that it must be some weird leftover angel thing flashed through his mind, until he looked down and noticed that Cas’s other hand was stroking Dean’s. Their hands brushed in small motions in rhythm with their teeth brushing, fingers linking and unlinking while they stared at each other, seemingly unable to look away for more than a second at a time.

The staring was nothing new of course, but they didn’t usually hold hands in front of Sam; then again, what with the new sleeping arrangements he didn’t actually know what their routine was. They were all generally focused on finding and killing monsters rather than on PDAs during the day, and Sam retired to his own room at night. He realized he had no idea what the two of them were like with each other when they didn’t have an audience.

As Dean leaned down to spit and rinse he moved his hand to rest on Castiel’s lower back, leaving Cas’s now-free fingers to curl in the hem of his t-shirt, and then straightened with a grin and a wink. When Castiel smiled rather goofily at him around his toothbrush Dean leaned in to kiss his boyfriend ardently on the cheek and whisper in his ear, too low for Sam to hear; something brief that nonetheless made Cas lower his eyes and redden slightly, smile widening. A satisfied smirk of his own appeared on Dean’s face before he kissed Cas’s cheek again and pulled away.

Sam quickly turned so he wouldn’t be caught staring as Dean exited the bathroom and got into bed, Cas following shortly thereafter.

Before he hung up with Charlie Sam extracted a promise from her to call once she got on the road, then went to take his own shower, still marveling at the quiet transformation that seemed to overtake his brother as soon as he was allowed semi-private time with Castiel. He was caring. Openly affectionate and _unburdened_. Cas, in return, obviously adored Dean and felt no need to hide it.

When he came out the TV was still on, the end credits of _Goodfellas_ still rolling. Dean and Cas were curled into each other in the center of their bed, already asleep, legs tangled. Dean’s hand rested on Castiel’s waist while Cas’ hand lay on Dean’s shoulder underneath the short sleeve of his t-shirt, fitting perfectly over the spot where his handprint was still seared into Dean’s skin. Their heads were so close on the pillows that their noses almost touched, soft breaths shared between them.

Sam paused for a moment, looking at his brother and his angel. For all that he professed to be deathly allergic to feelings, protectiveness and caring were hallmarks of Dean’s personality. They were key components of what drove him to keep hunting, to save people—hell, caring too much was kind of his and Cas’s biggest problem—but it wasn’t often that Dean unbent enough to show the gentler aspect of his nature to anyone, and even less often that he showed that side to anyone but Sam.

Watching Dean and Cas breathing together and thinking how far the two of them had come in the last six years—how far all of them had come—he was suddenly fiercely glad that Dean had the opportunity to let someone in like that. He was glad for Cas too, that his brother had finally let himself have something he wanted and that it no doubt eased Castiel’s transition into a mortal life tremendously. Mental snark aside, Dean and Castiel had given each other something to look forward to, something to reach for in life beyond the next hunt, the next monster.

He thought back to a conversation he’d had with Dean not long after his brother had gotten out of Purgatory, when Dean had said he couldn’t see the same light at the end of the tunnel that was their life as hunters as Sam could. As much as Dean wanted to believe Sam that it was possible to get out and have some semblance of normalcy he didn’t see that glimmer of happiness awaiting them. At least, he hadn’t then. Sam thought that maybe he did now, and maybe Castiel did too.

So when Cas sighed in his sleep and Dean’s fingers tightened on his waist in unconscious reassurance, Sam just smiled to himself and made his way to his own bed.

 

* * *

_The next morning_

 

Dean stirred without opening his eyes, the early morning sunlight streaming through the spaces between the curtains to fall warmly on his face. He blinked awake to see Cas watching him warmly. Cas’s fingers were carding through his hair, fingertips gently rubbing his scalp, and Dean was content to lay there still half-asleep and lose himself in that steady blue gaze.

“Hi,” he whispered scratchily.

“Hello Dean,” Cas replied in a rough undertone, the unchanging formality of his greeting making Dean’s lips quirk. He captured the hand in his hair and kissed Cas’s fingers before entwining them with his own, curling and playing lazily.

“Sam up yet?”

“No, not yet,” Cas said.

“Good.”

Castiel’s eyes crinkled in a not-quite-there smile as he met Dean’s mouth in a good-morning kiss, lips pressing for a long moment before parting. They tilted their heads slightly and their mouths caught again, Cas opening eagerly as Dean’s tongue slid into his mouth. He gave a low hum of contented pleasure, curling his tongue lazily around Dean’s and exploring his mouth in turn. He sucked lightly on Dean’s lower lip, something he’d found they both liked, and Dean shivered before they drew back with a small wet sound. Cas did smile then, staring into the bright green of Dean’s eyes.

“I like waking up to you.”

Unabashed happiness unfurled within Dean and rather than feeling scared, he reveled in it. “Yeah, me too Cas.”

Castiel slid his arms around Dean’s waist and tugged him closer until they lay flush together from chests to knees. “Although I do prefer our own bed at home. I’ll be glad to get back.”

“Same here Cas.” Although really, Dean thought, as long as Cas was there it felt like home anyway.

 

 

Turned away on his side, Sam smiled to himself without opening his eyes and listened to the sound of the low affectionate murmurs behind him for a few minutes more before going back to sleep.


End file.
